


The Latest Thing

by ArtHistory



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Ass-eating, Belly Kink, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Panty Kink, Popping Buttons, Tight Pants, Victorian, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 02:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtHistory/pseuds/ArtHistory
Summary: Did you know the Victorian era was when wealthy people actually started wearing undergarments? It was considered very high-class to do so...





	The Latest Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aris_Silverfin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/gifts).



The fire had to be hot.

Remarkably so.

Watson had taken very close attention to lay down a strip of cloth for his padded knees to rest on before stoking the fireplace, laying down enough logs to make he and Holmes London flat was as toasty and comfortable as a mug of hot cider. He couldn't have his finely tailored trousers be ruined with soot in a night like this.

Watson dimmed the gas lamps in he and Holmes living room, dragging his leather arm chair to sit before it, facing out towards the flat as he lit his pipe. The scent of aged tobacco puffed into the air as Watson settled down into his seat, the arms feeling tight at his sides.

His cock pulsed.

Watson hadn't changed after their dinner, he and Holmes fourth of the evening.

“Is this...is this really all necessary my darling?” Watson had belched around his fourth platter of rich, heavy pasta in red sauce.

Holmes had kissed him to quiet his questions, the great detective’s lips red as any high-society lady’s as they'd met the doctor’s own, staining them equally red with sauce so decadent Watson was surprised it had come from something as healthy as a tomato.

The lowest button on Watson’s vest had burst during their third course, the second lowest during their fourth. The once-trim army captain looked verifiable beached in their booth at Angelo’s, huffing and puffing, hands sliding to either side of his enormous gut, the last two dozen pounds added onto it so quickly since he and Holmes coupling that his blooming love handles were kissed with vibrant stretch marks. 

Holmes had simply slid a hand to his waist after that, nimble, clever fingers undoing his belt, Watson's belly flooding out into the open space with such unabashed glee his Watson's trouser button had joined its fallen comrades on the floor below them.

Watson had been unable to stop both of his chubby hands from moving, gliding up his rolled sides to cup his plump, meaty breasts, squeezing the full, warm examples of his newfound decadence with such desperation he didn't even realize how loud he'd moaned.

Watson snapped back to reality, cheeks two, fat roses framing his mustache, as Holmes loudly took Watson’s plate and emptied its contents onto his own.

Watson flushed redder.

“Punishing a pig by removing his trough? Oh, my dear Holmes, I never thought you'd be so cruel.” Watson murmured, pressing his mountainous gut into Holmes side, mustache tickling Holmes ear as he nibbled the lobe.

Holmes only speared a larger forkful of pasta in response, twirling it innocently before stuffing the mass of it into his mouth.

“I've a special surprise planned for this evening. I need your sexual energies uncompromised.” Holmes replied, twirling another mound of carbs.

“Oh?” Watson had purred, pressing his gut further into Holmes side, the detective failing to stifle an aroused whimper, “I thought you crammed four meals into me meant we'd have one of our trademark ‘discussions’ in the loo.” Watson added, cock rock hard against Holmes thigh, belly flooding over the detectives belly, his budding love handles.

He flushed as Holmes turned to look him in the eye, bright red as a schoolboy caught being naughty.

“By my calculations, we've both grown too fat to fit in Angelo's restroom together. There wouldn't be enough room for us to fuck.” Holmes said, as casually as discussing the weather.

Watson had gasped, grunted, the image of their two, enormous forms too squashed to do another but rutt and wobble as they fumbled pointlessly with their clothes, the walls squeezing, pressing the flab of their guts, their wide arses-

Watson flushed impossibly redder as he came, Holmes only chuckling, smoothing a napkin over the dark spot blooming on the man's trousers.

The mustachioed doctor purred as one of Holmes plump hands smoothed along Watson’s underbelly, pressing lightly enough make the soldier beach and hiccup in ecstasy.

“My apologies, my love. You know what that deep voice does to me.” Watson panted.

“Stoke the fire when we get home, and we'll call it even.” Holmes had chuckled, muffling a belch into his fist as he forced in one more bite, then another, then another…

And so now Watson smoked in front of a roaring fire. His gut pooled between his thick, spread thighs, the lowest third of it on display, a curly trail of blonde hair tracing the area revealed by Watson's trio of destroyed buttons.

Watson felt so perfectly disheveled.

His fine suit coat laying limo at either side of his gargantuan gut, no longer anywhere close to closing around the wide, heavy thing. His vest popped and broken, straining around what of his fat belly it could, evidence of its failure revealing evidence of the doctor's gluttony. Trousers burst around a great, massive arse that just barely squeezed into his fine leather armchair. Lips still kissed red with sauce, sausage-like fingers wrapped around his pipe. 

Said plump digits rested the pipe into his ashtray as Holmes entered the far side of the living room.

“Is 'this my surprise? My husband in his coat?” Watson asked, teasingly? His mustachioed lips tipping up into a smile.

Holmes smiled in kind, his footsteps heavy along the warm rugs of their flat, “Come now, Watson, use your honed skills of observation.” Holmes purred, the warm fire casting round, full-figured shadows of the two men around the room.

Watson smiled wider.

He took a long, slow look at his lover's entire form as Holmes continued to move towards him.

“Bare feet means we're not going back out anywhere, so mark you parading your fat pig in his burst clothes around London.” Watson breathed, pupils going wide, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips.

“Another time, lover, when it's warmer.” Holmes grinned, close enough now to lean down and give Watson's great gut a long, slow rub.

“P...plump ankles and wrists on display as well. Meaning you aren't wearing a button-up, or trousers under that coat.” Watson panted, licking his lips again now, almost salivating at the perfect image of rich, fatty pork before him.

“Combine that with the fire you wanted lit. I...is image you aren't wearing anything at all.” Watson huffed and puffed, cock already renting his trousers at the mere thought of his enormous lover.

Holmes grinned wide.

“Well done, Watson.” He cooed, Watson's eyes locked on Holmes hands as he slowly undid each button. Full, perky tits peaking out, the whisper of Holmes gorgeous gut, “But I'm wearing something better than nothing.”

Holmes let the coat fall.

Watson gasped.

Holmes wide, meaty, juicy hips were wrapped - no -  **painted** with swirling, black lace. A perfect, twirling line of dark fabric stretched excitedly around Holmes enormous arse, love handles blooming over it, meeting in a cheeky triangle of black roses around his cock.

“Dear lord. What is...what are-”

“They're calling them lingerie. Do you like the-”

Holmes laughed as Watson's fat hands wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer and burying his face in the man's comically overloaded, carb-packed gut. His teeth nipped, explored the wide dome of the thing, kissing southward before burying his nose in the clothes nest of curls above his Holmes member.

“I’ll assume you like-”

“Turn around.” Watson said, voice rumbling out of him like a hungry bear. He took a thick bite of the creamy lower lip of Holmes’ great gut, then gave his right cheek a loud *SLAP*

“Turn. A. Round.” Captain John Hamish Watson ordered, looking up towards the detective’s face now, eyes hard, challenging.   
Holmes head was suddenly dizzy with arousal.

He obeyed.

“Oh lord, Holmes, you are-” Watson cut himself off by burying his mustachioed mouth into Holmes left cheek, sucking bright red marks along its endless mass, his hands grabbing fistful after fistful of soft, creamy lard. The spirals of black roses kissed just at the small of Holmes’ back, a thin black line separating Holmes’ oceanic cheeks.

Watson’s teeth found the string as he worked his mouth between the walls of his Holmes perfect arse, tugging back forcefully, snapping the delicate lace as each of his hands took hold of one of Holmes cheeks, spreading them so Watson’s tongue could explore their walls, mouthing his way inward.   
Holmes gasped. Moaned. Cried out in abject pleasure.

“W-Watson!” He whimpered, his kissing thighs quivering like sweet vanilla pudding.

“On your hands and knees, hog.” Watson growled, watching Holmes go weak at the knees, slapping his arse again as Holmes obeyed, setting himself up and arching his back on the carpet.

Watson rose, tearing off his vest and button up, gut flying free in a hail of bursting buttons. His free hand slapping Holmes’ right cheek hard enough to leave a gorgeous, tickled pink handprint on those miles of ivory skin.

Holmes shivered, his massive arse wobbling eagerly as Watson’s clever hands spread his cheeks once more, mustachioed lip tickling the walls of his spherical behind before his equally clever tongue began slowly working open the man’s hole.

Holmes elbows nearly gave out, perky moobs bouncing as he sucked in breath as desperate breath, a hot spurt of pre-cum and Watson’s name jetting from him as the doctor finally penetrated him, tongue-fucking his massive detective while pumping at his own, monstrous cock, the ceaseless jiggle of his mountainous gut only increasing his arousal.

Holmes came with a keen, staining his wide, ivory gut with his pleasure, and Watson followed soon after, teeth leaving a perfect mark on the detective’s unmarred cheek.

They were panting, gasping as both men flopped onto his back, nude guts soaring skyward above the, reaching out for whatever they could grab of the other man.

“I...my apologies for breaking your lingerie, Mr. Holmes.” Watson smiled, forehead shiny with sweat as he turned his face towards his lover’s, not sounding very apologetic.

“Don’t be. Just promise not to eat yourself out of the pair I bought you before I can ruin them in kind.”


End file.
